Secondly. I should have considered the stating, “that a carpenter, while digging, struck his spade against an image of gold, and has it in his possession,” was sufficient, without further inquiry or remark. I repeat the fact for a truth. I know the man, and have seen the IMAGE. As an antiquary myself, I assure you, sir, I could fain dig for similar hidden treasures in the hope of like reward. The person who owns the image is not needy, he therefore would not part with his weight of gold for more sovereign current weight.
Thirdly. When young, I descended several feet into the “subterraneous passage” referred to by your “Reader.” Though I am willing to admit the possibility of monkish imposition—such a passage has, however, been believed to have existed by the oldest people of Clack. Similarly, it is conjectured, that a passage once ran from Canonbury-tower, Islington, to the palace Kensington. Your “Reader” is rather too sceptical to challenge me to a proof, which I take only in a topographical sense. Of whatever effect tradition may be, much historical truth is notwithstanding embodied in it: furthermore, it is well known, that subterraneous passages led from place to place, when castle building was in vogue.
Fourthly. The oldest man living in Seagry, at the time I was shown the stone in Malmsbury abbey, whose name was Carey, was the occasion of my going to that place to see the stone: I paid sixpence to the person who gave me a view of it. He represented it to have been done by “Geoffry Miles”—the boy was a choirister: this is his information, not mine. The impression ever after guarded my conduct in school.
Fifthly. As to “Joe Ody,” your “Reader’s” own words prove the truth of what I have said of him, and the “may be correct” is not called for. The lord chancellor could not have been more doubtful than your anonymous “Reader,” as to my information and communication. Some of the Ody family are now residing in Camberwell, whither your “Reader” may resort, should he be desirous of learning more of Joe’s merry-andrewism, who was no mean disciple of the rev. Andrew, his patron.
Sixthly. Your “Reader’s” hit at “Bowles” is corrected by me at the page in which his reference stands. Would that the “Bowles’ controversy” with Byron and Roscoe, respecting Pope, had been as easily terminated, and with as little acrimony and as much satisfaction!
Seventhly. The room I have already occupied in this paper prevents my stating much concerning “Clack Mount;”—this mount is, however, remarkable for two things,—the resort of bonfire makers, November 5, and the club at Whitsuntide. At the time of the ox-roasting many years since, in peaceful-ending times and rejoicing, this “mount” was a scene of delight and festivity. A band of music resorted thither, a line was formed as on club-day, beer was given round, and the collected people of both sexes, young and old, joined in the hilarious jubilee; after which the band, graced by every pretty girl, paraded to the priory, and played there in the best room. Its furniture, I remember, looked clubbed, dark, and glossy; it seemed, to me, a pity to tread on the shining floor, it was so antiquely neat and sacred. Given to kissing, when very young, I shall never forget touching the rosy cheeks of Miss Polly Bridges behind the awful door of the sacristy, at which theft I was caught by her laughing mother;—I beg to apologise to your “Reader,” sir, for this (digression) confession, but as my ancestors came from the priory, and Christmas being near, I trust he will pardon me, as Polly’s mother gave me absolution. On this ox-roasting occasion, Clack seemed really rising out of the stones. Dancing, music, holyday, and mirth, pervaded every house; and, very unusual, every poor person that brought a plate for the portion of slices of sheep, roasted opposite at baker Hendon’s, pretended to have more children than there were at home; some families imposed on the cook by two and three applications.—Who does not recollect the ox and sheep roasting? I can hardly resist a description of the many scenes I witnessed several days successively in the various villages—of the many happy hearts, and their intimate enjoyments. I could almost follow the example of “Elia” himself, and at once be jocose, classical, and fastidious. But mercy on your readers’ patience denies me the pleasure.
Therefore, Lastly, “The Maypole.” It was standing, fifteen feet high, thirty-six years ago. The higher part was cut off at the request of Madam Heath, before whose house, and the Trooper, it stood. I once myself saw the “morris-dance” round it, when cowslips, oxlips, and other flowers were suspended up and down it: nails were driven round the lower part to prevent a further incision. Unfortunately for the writer, the land which lies from “Clack to Barry-end,” a distance less than two miles, once belonged to my forefathers. Maud Heath, who caused a causeway to be made and kept in order to this day, from Callaway’s-bridge to Chippenham, was one of my collaterals.
Thanking you, sir, for your indulgence, and a “Reader” for his giving me an opportunity of illustrating his positions,